I have a great love for cities, especially cities with a waterfront. My sister and I spent this past weekend visiting our brother and sister-in-law in Vancouver, and its appeal grows and grows.

Whenever I spend time in other cities I think of my relationship with my hometown. Considering that I've lived in Calgary since I was born, I really don't know it all that well. I sometimes get lost downtown, there are whole neighbourhoods I've never set foot in, there are galleries and cafes and parks I haven't visited, there are nooks and crannies I've never bothered with.

What would happen if I spent more time and effort getting to know Calgary? Would I be more content living here? I have often stated my dislike for Calgary, but if I was intentional about giving it a fighting chance, maybe things would turn out differently.

We are all aware that relationships take work. It is easy to love Vancouver when you are a few minutes walk from Granville Island, Stanley Park, and the areas around Robson Street. It is easy to see the good side of Edmonton when the friend you're visiting has a penchant for finding perfect little cafes. It is easy to love Fernie when it is surrounded by mountains and filled with good friends. Somehow it is more difficult to love Calgary. Perhaps it is a case of familiarity breeding contempt, but I can't help but think it stems partly from a lack of exploration.

I visit other cities and all I do is explore. I walk and walk and walk and find the gems the city has to offer. Maybe it is time to start fresh with Calgary.




About a year ago I stopped blogging. I had just returned to Calgary from a few months in New Zealand and Australia, and when I tried to get back on the blogging train it felt awkward and forced. Once upon a time I was an avid blogger with several posts a week and suddenly it was difficult to write two sentences about anything at all, not even about what amounted to the four most adventurous months I have ever had. It was difficult to explain the beauty of the South Island, or the glory of reuniting with friends in Tasmania after two months spent in a new city, or the feeling of homeiness I had in Melbourne, or the calm of the parks in Auckland. My writing was stunted and the idea of a sort of public journal lost appeal by the minute.

However, the last few weeks I've been mulling over the idea of blogging again. But what to blog about? I am not currently living a very exciting life, I'm afraid, and there isn't very much of note to write about. What if readers get bored? What if they dislike my writing style? Or my pictures? What if I seem narcissistic? What if I talk about issues I am fairly ignorant of? What if my life seems trite?

After considering these things and more, I've decided that it really doesn't matter. Maybe this blog won't be riveting or life-changing, but it doesn't need to be. I have always enjoyed writing, and how else to improve at a thing besides doing it? The same goes for photography, in which I am altogether mediocre. As for my worries of my days being too rote and boring, won't documenting my time encourage me to live a little more fully? I think it might.